The Way to a Man's Heart
by mindmelda
Summary: A kitchen, 3 young men, food silliness. Shounen-ai, of course, the 345 arc.


Title: The Way to a Man's Heart Author: Gina Lin Genre: Romance, Humor Pairing: 3+4+5 Warnings: Yaoi, Lime, Language, Silliness Rating: R Archived: SDQB, S_E Updates, GWFF, FF.net  
  
Summary: A dream kitchen, 3 bored young men. Pure self-indulgence on the author's part. Part of the 3+4+5 arc, sequel to "Tea with Quatre, Shivers, Café au Lait, Battlements, The Addition.  
  
"What IS that smell?" asked Wufei, wrinkling his nose in a way that made Trowa want to laugh.  
  
"Quatre is experimenting with cooking goat *," replied Trowa. "He's having a 'get back in touch with my heritage' culinary obsession. I didn't mind the hummus, grilled beef, and tabouli, but this is just..wrong."  
  
"Did he have it butchered, or just throw the poor thing live upon the grill?" said Wufei, waving his hand in front of his face. "I swear I smell singed hair."  
  
"He swears it's going be very similar to lamb," said Trowa, sighing. "A Frenchman should not have to be subjected to such gastronomical atrocities. After all, we invented gourmet cooking."  
  
"A pig should not be subjected to such smells," said Wufei bluntly. He made a gagging noise.  
  
"Why can't we just order out like typical males who can't cook?"  
  
"Quatre can cook well enough," replied Trowa , "it's just what he chooses to cook that worries me."  
  
"I want to go in there and stop him," said Wufei, "but I'm afraid."  
  
"Doesn't pay to get in between Master Quatre and his obsession de moment."  
  
"Do you really call him that?" Wufei asked, with a fleeting grin.  
  
"Only when he's being a pain," said Trowa.  
  
"I say we launch a defensive strategy to protect our poor stomachs," suggested Wufei slyly.  
  
"I'm all ears," said Trowa taking his arm as they went to the kitchen door.  
  
Quatre was humming happily to himself, heedless of the mess surrounding him. He consulted the laptop on the countertop, the screen smudged with various ingredients.  
  
"Let's see," he mused out loud. "Olive oil, mint, cumin, and cardamom," he murmured, reading the recipe on the screen in front of him.  
  
"And where exactly does one find a recipe for goat?" asked Trowa, coming into the kitchen with Wufei in tow.  
  
"Internet," replied Quatre absently. He stabbed a finger at the screen. "I'm forgetting honey and pepper," he said, looking around among the piles of ingredients on the large marble countertop.  
  
"Wufei and I are here to plead for our stomachs," said Trowa.  
  
"You're going to love this," said Quatre enthusiastically, ignoring him.  
  
"Define love," Wufei said, deadpan, arms folded leaning against the countertop.  
  
"I've had this dish and it's really quite good," said Quatre, "if I can just duplicate the recipe."  
  
"I feel like a lab rat," complained Wufei, "Can't we just have some normal food for a change? Maxwell's sandwiches are even starting to sound good."  
  
"You two have no appreciation for ethnic cuisine."  
  
"We two are protesting being used as guinea pigs for your ongoing gastronomical experiments," exclaimed Trowa.  
  
"Are you saying you won't be joining me for dinner?" asked Quatre, thrusting out his chin stubbornly.  
  
"Oh, we'll be around," said Wufei, raising an eyebrow. "But a change of menu is in order." He and Trowa both took a step towards Quatre, smiling evilly.  
  
"What does that mean?" said Quatre, sounding nervous.  
  
"I think we're going to have a little Quatre du jour," said Trowa, suddenly reaching out and grabbing Quatre by the wrists.  
  
"What?!" yelled Quatre in alarm.  
  
"It's a little like sacrificial lamb," said Wufei, grabbing Quatre's ankles and pulling him off of his feet in one swift motion. "Only tastier."  
  
They lifted him and put him on the counter, still holding his wrists and ankles.  
  
"I've had this dish before," said Trowa, mockingly. "It's really quite good."  
  
"This isn't funny," said Quatre, squirming. "No dinner for you tonight!" he threatened.  
  
"I hate it when my dinner talks back," said Wufei. "Don't you?"  
  
"Yes, it's so distracting," said Trowa.  
  
"I don't think this dish is dressed properly, do you?" asked Wufei, his dark eyes glinting.  
  
"Oh, I think it's over-dressed, myself," said Trowa, nodding.  
  
"Don't you dare!" threatened Quatre.  
  
"I thought you liked to experiment with food," said Trowa, jumping up on the counter and quickly straddling Quatre's hips. He undid the blond man's belt, button and zipper, and Wufei removed his pants, snickering.  
  
"Let me go and I promise I'll order pizza!" said Quatre desperately.  
  
"Not in the mood for pizza now," said Trowa. "Quatre du jour is looking better every minute."  
  
"I think our dish needs some olive oil," said Wufei thoughtfully. He unscrewed the bottle, drizzled some on Quatre's now bare toes, and began to rub them. Quatre squawked, embarrassing himself. "Not the toes!" he yelled.  
  
"Oh, definitely," agreed Trowa. "Makes the dish more tender."  
  
"At least lock the door!" gasped Quatre. "Anyone could just walk in!"  
  
"You're right, mon petite chou," said Trowa. "That's why we locked the door when we came in."  
  
"You planned this?" hissed Quatre between his teeth.  
  
"More or less," said Wufei. "For the true gourmet, the ability to improvise with ingredients on hand is crucial."  
  
Trowa raised his eyebrows at Wufei.  
  
"I read that somewhere," he said, looking sheepish for a moment.  
  
"I think we need some of that oil up here," said Trowa, motioning with his chin to Wufei.  
  
"On the ribs, you think?" asked Wufei.  
  
"I love a choice rack of ribs," said Trowa, mock serious.  
  
"Me too," said Wufei. He unbuttoned Quatre's shirt and poured a small amount of oil on his stomach.  
  
Quatre began to giggle. "Hey, that's cold!" he said.  
  
"Hm, it says here 'massage the ingredients firmly into the flesh to tenderize'," read Wufei, looking at the laptop screen."  
  
"Sounds good to me," said Trowa. He released Quatre's wrists and made slow circles in the oil on Quatre's stomach and ribs, gradually working lower, sliding down under his boxers.  
  
"Is he softening up?" asked Wufei, laughing.  
  
"No, I think this recipe is mistaken," said Trowa, "The flesh getting harder."  
  
"Never trust anything you read on the Internet," said Wufei, shaking his head and grinning.  
  
"This is evil you two," said Quatre harshly. "And I'll never be able to cook on this countertop again!"  
  
"Promise?" asked Trowa.  
  
"I swear!" groaned Quatre, "You can't just leave me like this! It's cruel!"  
  
"You were going to make us eat goat for dinner," said Wufei. "And you call us cruel."  
  
"I think this flesh has been massaged enough," said Trowa, swinging his over and climbing off the counter.  
  
"OH, no fair!" said Quatre, sitting up and grabbing for a towel to wipe the olive oil off of his body.  
  
"I think he's going to be sitting there a while," said Wufei. "Let's order out, I know a great Szechuan place."  
  
"Sounds wonderful," agreed Trowa. They turned to leave.  
  
"Guys?" asked Quatre. "Where are my pants?"  
  
"That's for us to know and you to figure out," said Wufei smugly.  
  
"By the time he finds them, we'll have dinner ordered, don't you think, Wufei?"  
  
"Are we going to order enough for him is the question?" asked Wufei.  
  
"I don't know," mused Trowa. "What about the goat?"  
  
"Screw the goat!" yelled Quatre. "You can't leave me here with a hard-on, no pants and now no dinner!"  
  
"I think he's suffered enough," laughed Wufei.  
  
"Me too," said Trowa, holding his stomach.  
  
"I'll never cook again!" swore Quatre. "And I want mushu chicken!"  
  
"That's the great thing about Chinese food," said Wufei.  
  
"What?" asked Quatre, hands still clenched in his lap.  
  
"A definite lack of goat dishes."  
  
The End  
  
*Yes, the author has eaten young goat, and it does taste like lamb, only a bit stronger. But, like lamb, it has to be cooked carefully so as not to release the strong smell and taste of the muscle sheath. Slow and careful roasting works, as does just removing it. Apparently Q is not up on his culinary techniques. Allah help us all! 


End file.
